Someone Worth Dying For
by Milk of Awesomeness
Summary: At the age of thirteen, Lovino, an orphaned child, was a young servant who lived in the house of an artisan as a ward, working under the man for next to nothing. When he learns of a ball that the prince is throwing, he has no means of attending until a certain angel named Arthur helps out. CINDERELLA AU


A shrill yell distracted the young boy from what he was doing. A man had fallen off of his horse. His clothes, purple and black with encrusted jewels, signalled that he was either impersonating a prince or was a fairly important person. Colours were all but intriguing to the eye, and certain ones highlighted your worth in this world. The boy frowned, but decided to help, knowing that if certain types of nobles hate being helped by lowly peasant boys like himself. He didn't know why he even bothered, but if it got a nosy noble out of his way as he pretended to be working on his chores, why not. He didn't want the idiot that he worked for being let on that he wasn't paying any attention to his job.

As he got closer, he noticed a yellow chirping bird nearby the fallen nobleman, probably his messenger bird or something, or at least he would have thought that had it not been for the size of the creature. It was barely a chick. The creature was flying around the fallen man, and the pauper sighed to himself. "Hey, idiot!" He called. "Need help getting up?"

The male who had fallen off of his horse looked up with a fond smile. "Well, no. I'm awesome enough to do it myself, but if you want to…"

The boy scoffed. "Fine, I won't lend my help to you rich bastards ever again!"

The male in the rich clothing frowned as he stood up. "I was only kidding! Gosh, kid!" He smiled at him fondly. Lovino noticed that he was rather odd looking, almost demonic. Red eyes, pale skin, hair as white as snow. The devil's touch, some thought of looks like that. He figured that they were born that way, but a part of him knew that those tales had to have a ring of truth to them. Otherwise, why the devil did they exist in the first place?

"Whatever." He simply said, irritated. Antonio was expecting him back any second, and frankly, he didn't want to deal with this bastard when he needed to get back to the other dumbass and pretend that he had gone to the stalls to check for tomatoes when he actually hadn't before Antonio went there looking for him and got himself lost. Lord knows the idiot had done it before.

"What's your name anyway?" The man asked, not seeming rather miffed from the rude behaviour from someone so unimportant. He almost seemed amused by this new revelation, a young peasant who was actually unafraid by someone in power. Well, he could shove his newfound interest up his damn ass.

"Lovino." He said.

The man smiled at him. "I'm Gilbert." Lovino's eyes widened in realisation. The crown prince? "But don't worry, I don't bite. And I'm not going to put you in the stocks for being a complete asshole to me, though you deserve it, kid. Just to show you how awesome I am." Gilbert—Prince Gilbert of the House of Beilschmidt— chuckled and continued on his way after ruffling Lovino's hair. The Italian native frowned, but didn't want to press his luck by pushing away the arm.

Prince Gilbert got back onto his horse and took off, leaving the young servant in the dust, wondering if that had even just happened. Lovino frowned and turned to walk the lonely road back to Antonio's house. He entered the building. Antonio looked at him as he entered. The elder was leisurely enjoying a tomato. "Hola, Lovi!"

"Whatever, dumbass." Lovino muttered as he walked past him.

"Were there no tomatoes at the market?" He asked with a frown. Lovino just shrugged. He wasn't that great of a henchman to this idiot. If he did go to the market, half the time he just ate the tomatoes that he picked up before he had even gotten back. The only ones that typically made their way into the house were the ones that Antonio grew himself, which should sound highly suspicious, but Lovino just figured Antonio was too stupid to figure that out.

Antonio sighed. The one that he was chewing on was one of the only ones that he had. The season had been rough on his tomato plants. They grew almost nothing, and the apparent lack of them in the market only solidified for him that everyone else had been having a rough time as well. It was a bit concerning as tomatoes were his favourite—and Lovino's as well—fruit. And they were cheap. Potatoes were cheap as well, but the one time that he had attempted to feed his henchman those they made red rashes appear on the boy's skin, and neither were particularly willing to try them again after that fiasco.

Still, potatoes were a stable, cheap food and so they were limited on the foods that they could eat. They depended on those tomatoes for something to consume so that they wouldn't starve to death. If there were none up at the market the past week, then Antonio was a bit worried.

Maybe Antonio had made a mistake in taking the kid on as an servant. Lovino's younger annoying brother Feliciano was the servant of his stuck-up aristocrat, Roderich, some asshole nobleman who played piano and sulked about his betrothed breaking tradition and running away on their wedding night. He seemed much more content with the state of their house with his brother. And Feliciano was much more polite and cuter. Antonio had tried to trade Lovino for him the first week that he had received the orphan but Roderich wouldn't have it.

Antonio sighed. "Lovi, go clean the bookshelf, por favor." He said. The kid might as well make himself useful, he decided. He had paid the orphanage good money to have a small servant and even though his henchman was two years short of officially coming of age, Antonio wanted to milk him for what he was worth, which wasn't much.

Lovino sighed. Why did he have to end up in this idiot's care? Sure, he was a poor orphan, but he could do something different than cater to the jerk bastard's every whim! He grumbled under his breath before walking over to the shelf to dust it in irritation.

* * *

Gilbert couldn't stop thinking about the boy from earlier even after he had entered the palace. It was cool how he was rude to him despite the fact that he was noticeably a nobleman. And the Crown Prince to top it off. He hadn't even grovelled to him. It intrigued him.

His father beckoned him to the throne room almost as soon as he had arrived back. Gilbert sighed, having an idea what it was about. His father would not leave him alone about marriage. Just the idea of getting married to some prissy noble girl sickened him, but of course he had to get married for an heir. He didn't want to deal with the bullshit that his father said. Plenty of kings and queens had refused to marry and ruled. Just not for their nation. It was tradition for the nobles here to marry off their eldest children in their first two years of eligibility. Many times, kids were promised to each other even before.

Gilbert was nineteen, four years older than the age of eligibility. For the Crown Prince, that looked like a disaster to his father and clearly some of the Cabinet of Parliament if the reactions that he had gotten from other families meant anything. Gilbert didn't care. It was a stupid tradition that he never wanted to follow. His father would probably force him to do it eventually anyway.

The King turned to him. "I think you know what I'm about to tell you." He said with a look of disapproval to the Prince. Gilbert's younger brother Ludwig stood not too far off. He frowned. He loved his brother to death but it was clear who was more loved at times. Of course Ludwig was the perfect son to take over after their father was to die or step down. Unfortunately, tradition in their kingdom was that the eldest son—or in certain scenarios, daughter—would take over with very few exceptions in skipping the line of succession.

Gilbert wasn't really the favoured one of the two, though he was older by several years. With his snow white hair and violet, almost red eyes, he was demonic in appearance, whereas Ludwig looked both angelic and strong, with his blond hair, blue eyes, and muscles. At fourteen he was almost as tall as Gilbert. It was a shame, Gilbert thought. His father's loss. He was the awesomer one.

"I still say that marriage is a sham, and not very cool. Why can't we just break tradition for once?" Gilbert asked. The look on his father's face said it all. Gilbert followed all kingdom rules to a T with no scandals to his name and none so far palnned, but suggest they change their customs and he was treated like he committed treason. He entertained the thought. He would never betray someone himself, but if it would get him out of the royal line, he could only hope that his father did declare that he had committed treason.

He would have run away long ago, but his father had eyes on him at all times, even when he was alone in the village, spies that he could sense watching his every move. It was unsettling. Did he really have to get married? It sounded more like a pain than anything else.

"Nein. I already sent out messengers to all the towns people and the nobility for a ball thrown in your honour tonight. I expect you to find a nice, _noble_ wife there. You will have a dance with all eligible upper-class women while the ball is in progress and you must have a wife in mind by the end of the night or I will choose one for you."

Gilbert grimaced. He hated the idea of marrying someone. Ludwig looked down, silent. Of course he was. He was perfect, he didn't know what it was like to be anything but. "And I assume, Father, that you'll kill me if I don't agree?" He asked with a smirk, though he did not expect the blow to the head that he received. He rubbed where he had been smacked. It was a disgusting practice in his eyes, not needed. Why did he have to have an heir? Why couldn't Ludwig's child be his heir? Why couldn't his father break tradition and make Ludwig his heir? Gilbert would willingly back down. He didn't like the aristocratic life. It was shitty.

* * *

Lovino had knocked over the shelf while dusting it, prompting Antonio to scold him with an expectant sigh. Of course. The Italian always messed up. He was useless. Why did he even bother doing the little work for this ass that he did when he would just mess everything up? He scowled. "Shut it, jerk bastard! It's not like the books were injured, dammit!"

Antonio was about to reply when there was a knock on the door. He put on a smile and went to greet the guest as if he had not just yelled at the boy in frustration. Really, he was such an idiot at times. Lovino couldn't see why anyone could put up with him. He was attempting to tune out the man who had come, conveniently only hearing the man say, "Ball for the prince…. All merchants, artisans, and richer farmers are invited….." Lovino's eyes lit up. Maybe he could get out of cleaning up the mess if he begged the bastard to let him go as well.

Upon the departure of the messenger, that was exactly what he had done. "If you clean up this mess before it's time to go, maybe." Antonio said with a chuckle.

"Si, idiota." He muttered. Of course. He couldn't have a single night of fun, even for such an opportunity such as this. Truthfully, he wouldn't mind getting a chance to speak to the prince again. He was… different that how he had imagined a upper-class privileged man to behave. A tad bit arrogant, but not snooty or overly conceited like he had previously thought. And surprisingly single at such a relatively old age. He wasn't sure how he had managed that, especially not when it was his duty to produce an heir for the future of the Kingdom. He was rather intriguing.

Lovino was about halfway through putting the books back on the shelf when it fell over a second time, most of the books landing on his head. He cursed angrily and kicked the shelf, prompting it to fall over and knock the boy down. He had only had enough time to move so that he wasn't completely crushed by the thing. Unfortunately, his leg got stuck under the bookshelf at the same time as Antonio walked back into the room.

"Lovi…. You're not supposed to be messing around." Antonio chided.

"Shut the hell up, bastard, and help me up, idiota!" Antonio was dressed up for the stupid ball, he noticed. Lovino scowled from where he was now laying, trapped.

"Lovi, you're not going to be able to go to the ball if you keep acting like this." He started as he pushed the bookshelf back into place.

"Acting like what? What are you talking about?" He asked as he stood up.

Antonio sighed and headed to leave. Lovino pouted as he started to walk off, all dressed up in clothes that were too nice for their social standing. Lovino realised that he must have always intended on leaving him here. Well, fuck that bastard. Lovino kicked the bookshelf a second time, knocking it over on top of himself again.

He cursed, unsure of how he was supposed to get out from under it, squirming a bit. This was utterly stupid. A chuckle came from one end of the room. Lovino let out a high-pitched scream. He called for Antonio to come back and save him, prompting the man who had just materialised in the room to scoff. "That wanker doesn't care about you, now, what to do about this?" The man teased him, gesturing to the fallen bookshelf.

Lovino glared at him, also taking the time to examine the man. He had scruffy blond hair and weird, bushy eyebrows that made him look completely stupid. Lovino wanted to tell him to fuck off and go eat some potatoes, but then he smirked at him and the offending object that had been holding the boy down was no longer there, back where it was supposed to be, completely sturdy and upright.

Lovino looked at the new arrival warily. "The hell? B-bastard what did you do!"

"I helped you, ya arse." He said, English accent prominent in his tone. "Now, you want something, so spit it out would you? I don't have all day!"

"I want to go to this stupid ball too! Why does only that bastard get to go! I was invited! The hell are you!"

"I'm the Britannia Angel! How hard is that to figure out!" He looked exasperated at him, as if he did not understand how he couldn't possibly have known that. He seemed offended. Well, he could be offended. Lovino didn't give a crapola about him.

"Yeah, so?" Lovino asked with annoyance.

"Fine, I guess I'll just be going then. Good luck getting to the ball without me, you ungrateful—"

"Wait!" Lovino called to him. "Fine, whatever. Stay. Don't go. How?"

"With magic." He said with a smirk. "Also, you may call me Arthur." Suddenly the mouse that liked to climb the bookshelf to nibble at the expensive pages of what they owned turned into a horse. Lovino blinked. Arthur looked at him in disapproval. "What on Earth are you wearing?" He rolled his eyes and quickly zapped the clothes away with new ones in their place. Lovino looked down. The clothes he was wearing looked too prince-like. Nothing like what a servant—or anyone, for that matter—should be allowed to wear.

The ride to the castle felt like a dream. Lovino was wearing uncomfortable slippers on his feet made out of glass, digging into either side of his new mouse-turned-horse. In a fucking dress out of all things. He didn't know why he was dressed so feminine. Gosh, why couldn't the bastard have given him a carriage at least so his undergarments weren't showing? The horse gave a rodent-like squeak that god some weird looks, but nothing too bad. The boy was unsure of how this was supposed to work, exactly. What if Antonio recognised him? He'd be dead for sure. He fingered the mask across his face, a small piece sticking out of it to hold down his curl. Was it enough?

* * *

Gilbert was uncomfortable in the clothes that he was wearing. They were too stiff, he hated it. He hated everything. The clothes, his life, his father, traditions, the aristocrats. At least when his father had thrown the damn thing he had generously deciding to invite people from the lower classes, both male and female. It was at least a bit refreshing, meeting people who didn't just have the same bland personality and the same motives. The nobles here wanted power, they only cared that he was the crown prince, the heir. Someone to higher their or their daughter's standing. They only wanted money, power, influence, prestige.

The poorer classes were different. They were starved for entertainment to the point that from what he'd seen they wanted crude humour and fistfights whereas the richer, educated classes loved the deeper meaning being plays and were "enlightened." They couldn't afford to eat sometimes, and even killed or abandoned their own babies to be able to live themselves. Their attendance to this party was their one time of free food, of enjoyment.

Gilbert figured that he should probably help them, then. If he had to marry to help these people, then he guessed he could pretend to find some woman pleasing, force himself to wed her, have kids, and when he was finally king, do the right thing that almost no monarch did. Help the power, disadvantaged classes, lower the tax rate on them or at least make the treasury useful so the money wasn't going to damn lavish parties for the nobility like this one. It made his skin crawl. Maybe he could make education both mandatory and free, and set up a system to give the poor free food. Maybe he could outlaw slavery and serfdom. He could do what the others wouldn't and turn away from protecting the noble's feelings. He could care less if some rich dumbasses who had never really worked a day in their lives when they had serfs and servants and slaves to do so, started some dumb riots over some loss of money.

But Gilbert was selfish. He didn't want the crown if he had to get married to someone he wasn't even attracted to, even if he could help the whole kingdom if he made the sacrifice. His mind drifted off to the poor boy from that morning. He was so much more interesting than any of the sluts that the upper-class produced. Women who only lived for power and continuing their husband's line for them, or to 'please' their husband. It was all a sham, and he found it revolting. His own best friend, the daughter of an upper class Hungarian family, had disguised herself as a poor male and went to war to escape her marriage to an upper class Austrian aristocrat.

He sighed as a redheaded girl was handed off to him by the child's father. That's what she was, a child, barely eleven years old in appearance. Maybe she could be older, but he was still creeped out. She didn't even look old enough to court, let alone marry. He took her out onto the floor anyway, though he had no intentions of touching her like that ever again. It was too odd.

He danced with a few other girls, generally each one uglier than the first, with only a few exceptions. He wasn't all that attracted to any of them anyway, but at least he could tell that none of them were all that pretty. Must be the inbreeding. When there weren't that many noble families to choose from that happened a lot. Also to keep lines pure or whatever. Bleh. Gilbert was so going to ban titles when he got older. Titles were dumb. Damn aristocrats.

* * *

Lovino noticed Gilbert—Prince Gilbert—dancing with several incredibly ugly girls. Every once and a while, a sort of cute one would go to him, but for the most part, none were all that attractive. He rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the pang of jealously that found its way inside of him. There was no time for that, he chided. He glanced at the clock on the wall. He had only an hour from the time that he had gotten here to do what he needed to do—whatever the fuck that was, he still had no idea—and he now only had fifteen minutes.

It was already shitty enough when he looked into his reflection on the floor of the palace and learned that Arthur, the ass, had in fact disguised him. As a girl. He figured it was the only way to get the prince to dance with him, not that he wanted him to, but he felt wrong, as if he was in the wrong body with the wrong parts. Abnormal, something not right. He couldn't wait until midnight, when it was supposed to go away, along with everything else. Except for apparently his shoes. They were a souvenir.

He glanced back at the clock. Ten minutes until midnight. Gilbert was alone, none of the upper-class girls near him. This was Lovino's only chance to dance with him. Not that he wanted to. That would be stupid. Even still, he slowly made his way over to him, cursing himself for suddenly feeling shy out of all things. Dammit, was this the girl body making him do this? He decided to blame that. It was the only explanation.

Gilbert looked at him with an exhausted glance as he looked over. Lovino wondered what he was thinking when he looked at him. He bit down on his lip before speaking. He knew he wasn't at the age of maturity yet for boys, so he was just like most of these girls, but for a female he was past that. For a female it was "whenever they are ready to make babies" though some parents didn't marry them off until they were twenty and yet others married them off immediately. At least that's how it worked with the lower class families. Nobles probably married earlier, in the first few years. He was probably at a ripe age, thirteen.

Why was he thinking about this? The charm on him wouldn't last forever. There's no way that he would marry him as a male, even if he had been interested in him, which he doubted anyway. He was just a servant, somewhere above a slave or a serf but someone to be pitied, to be laughed at, to scorn. Never to love.

He smirked, deciding to just risk it. "Tired of dancing with overdressed, greedy men's daughters?" He asked. "Most still look like babies." The feminine voice still felt wrong, though he pushed that away. He'd be normal again in a few hours.

Gilbert looked a bit affronted. "Like you're any different. Everyone here seems to want a piece of me."

"Just here for a party and the free food, but yes, if you want me. Though frankly, doubt I look any better than them anyway. Or any different."

Gilbert smirked. "How old are you anyway?"

"Thirteen."

"Older than most of the girls I've danced with tonight." He admitted. "At least from what I could tell."

"Well, looks are deceiving. How old did you think I was?"

"Doesn't matter." He replied, holding his arm out for Lovino to take. He hesitated. "You don't really act much like the other girls I've talked to already. It's refreshing." Lovino figured it was because he wasn't actually a girl. Or noble. Or even the slightest bit nice.

Lovino was oddly good at the women's part, and that worried him. Sure, whenever Antonio would teach him a new dance, he'd make him be that part, but that he was actually good at it terrified him. Gilbert held him to his chest, making him feel oddly special, treasured. Bleh.

He nestled against him for the duration of the song that was playing. Whoever the bards that had been hired were, they were wonderful. He didn't mind dancing with him. It felt nice, despite the fact that he didn't like being led. How did women handle this, knowing that they were always meant to be servile, even in dance? He hated it. It seemed like an awful life, being subjected to inferiority just because of what was between your legs. Honestly, he had never put any thought to it until he had to feel how uncomfortable these shoes were—though that might just be because they were glass—and how restraining these women's clothes really felt. He promised never to take a woman for granted again, like many of the other men here seemed to.

He focused on Gilbert, looking at him. Gilbert smiled softly at him. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Lovina." It was the first thing that had come to his head, considering the fact that he had almost said his own name. He prayed that Gilbert wouldn't notice. Gilbert's face scrunched up in confusion, but he just held him close, apparently blissfully unaware that he was really a man.

* * *

Gilbert wasn't attracted to any of the women that he had danced with, but this one's personality was different. He had thought she was around ten—though she was skinny in the way that lower-class people were, despite the fact that she was dressed as a noble and it concerned him—honestly, but two years below the age of maturity wasn't too bad compared to what he had seen. And sure, the age of maturity only applied to men, technically, but Gilbert was honourable, didn't want one who wasn't the right age. Since he actually had to have a wife, evidently.

She was intriguing, far more than the stiff people he had seen today. He still didn't particular like her, but she was different. He could find himself agreeing to pretend to love her; she seemed like someone who could be a friend, a companion, even his equal maybe. She didn't seem to be here just for the prospects of getting rich, of making daddy happy, or furthering her status in society. Fresh, exciting, unique.

That's why, he decided to go for it. He opened his mouth to ask her to be his bride. They'd have to wait until she was fifteen, but he figured with all the children shown to him that the age wouldn't matter to his father, they just had to exist. However, as he opened his mouth, he was interrupted by the bells beginning to chime, signalling that it was midnight. Even worse, the girl squirmed out of his arms. He released her as soon as she began to struggle, the gentleman that he was.

He turned to his father. "That girl… the one that I was just dancing with, I choose her." The man nodded, though he seemed a bit hesitant as he sent a few of his guards to track her down.

"I don't recognise her house, but she definitely looks noble." He told him, examining her gown and shoes as she fluidly moved through the crowd. "How old?"

"Said she was thirteen."

"Two years isn't so bad to wait." His father remarked, though he hadn't particularly been too fond of Gilbert's 'they must be at the age of maturity for boys' condition. Oh, the things he had to stupidly agree to for power. "Doesn't appear it, though."

Gilbert wrinkled his nose. "Poor thing looks almost starved."

* * *

Lovino had panicked as soon as the clock began to chime to twelve. He started running off before the magic could wear off, adrenaline pumping throughout his body, terrifying him with the very worry of transforming back into a boy before he could escape. What would Gilbert do if he saw it was him. Probably be disgusted. Lovino would be lucky if he wasn't executed.

He tripped a bit, one of his shoes sliding off of his foot. He didn't dare waste a second to pick the slipper up as he ran. He was used to being barefoot anyway. By the time he had gotten back to his horse, it was a squeaking mouse again and he was back into his rags. They felt more comfortable than the noble clothes, though he couldn't decide if it was because women's clothes were ill-fitting or if noble's clothes were too stiff.

The mouse hopped onto his shoulder as he ran, clinging to his curl so it wouldn't fall. He cringed when it did so, but tried to focus more on trying to get home than the odd feeling he got when that piece of hair was pulled.

He stepped into the house and looked around. Antonio had not returned home yet, luckily. He sighed in relief as he stepped into his own small room to place the other shoe inside his closet, too remind him that tonight had in fact happened. Call him pathetic, but he got so little happiness in his life just the reminder that he had received some semblance of it once was nice. He sighed before looking out at the moonlight. Today was truly odd, but not unpleasant. No, for once he could fall asleep truly satisfied.

* * *

Gilbert wasn't so lucky nor did he feel as fortunate or blessed after the night, just frustrated. After the party was over and everyone had finally gone to sleep, the next morning his father discussed the girl, Lovina, with other nobles of his particular circle and none of them knew of anyone with a daughter who went by such a name other than a young 11-year-old who he knew immediately wasn't her. The eyes were wrong. The hair was wrong.

The girl that he remembered was a pretty dark-haired brunette with hazel eyes that had their own distinct rebellious shine to them, someone interesting and different, someone who made a person want to know everything about them. The girl that was presented to him was nothing like that, a washed-up, fair blond girl that he remembered vaguely from the party, one of the young kids with daddies who considered their daughters only as another mouth to feed and to be married off eventually to higher his status and retain his nobility.

When that failed, Gilbert went to his room to sulk. The one girl who was even the slightest bit interesting and they had no idea who she was or where to find her. He thought of his plan for the country, trying to remind himself that for it to be even considered the law of the land he needed to get married. He needed this girl. Otherwise, it almost wasn't worth it, spending eternity married to some rich, snobby adolescent girl he didn't even like as a friend, forced to make babies with her… It was unimaginable. At least this one seemed tolerable enough, personality wise. That was much more than he was expecting to meet and dash it all if he let the opportunity slip by.

And so, he set out to find the girl, checking all the noble families for the next few days, using the one thing that they had found of her, the shoe, as a form of guidance. Every girl that they met he made try the shoe on, at least the ones that had a similar stature and build. They had no luck with the nobility. Gilbert cursed. So she was a merchant's kid, maybe? A merchant, or at least a rich member of the bourgeoisie, might have that money for a dress that fancy. She could be a child of a seamstress or an artisan. He knew for a fact that she couldn't be a peasant or a serf or a servant. None would have that kind of clothes or an ability to get there.

The last house, a young middle-class man named Antonio, had no children and was unmarried. Gilbert vaguely remembered being introduced to him from a fellow nobleman named Francis while at the ball. He didn't seem too bad. He remembered the clothes he had been wearing. They were definitely borrowed from the Frenchman. They had the flair that he liked.

Even so, knowing that he had no children, he still knocked. Maybe he knew her. "Lovino! Get the door!" He heard. "Por favor?"

His heart skipped a beat when he heard that name, and then the voice that answered it. "Si, whatever. Damn tomato idiot, making me do this stupid shit." The door opened to a small Italian kid, the one he remembered. "Oi! If you're here to execute me for what I last week go ahead, dammit!" Lovino's eyes were big and panicked.

Gilbert was confused. "Huh? I think that's sort of a long time to take to track someone down for something that silly, isn't it? It was just a few words wasn't it? No harm done, honestly."

Lovino looked sort of confused, before his face paled more. Antonio came to the door. He bowed and then scolded Lovino for not doing so. The Italian—who must be Antonio's servant, Gilbert realised—did no such thing even when reprimanded.

Instead he just looked at Gilbert with big hazel eyes, as if daring him to do something to one of them. Something told Gilbert that Lovino genuinely cared about his master's wellbeing. Probably. Even so, it was clear that Antonio was the reason that he appeared so skinny, so dirty, so underfed. He looked ten years old….

Wait….

Hazel eyes, bright and determined. Small stature. His heart thumped, though he couldn't allow himself to be hopeful. There was no way that Lovino had someone managed to sneak into the ball dressed as a woman, at least not one that looked that much like a woman, nor someone who looked about as noble as someone could be….

And yet….

Gilbert tried to let go of the thought, until another one came to his head. Lovina kind of sounded like Lovino. In fact, it sounded almost exactly like Lovino, excluding the fact that it was clearly a feminine name.

It didn't matter anyway, no matter if Lovino was the girl or not. His father would never allow him to marry another man, that's why he had to find a wife, wasn't it? Because he secretly had wanted to. Because he could never love a woman nor find one as pleasing as he was expected to. Hell, he had never even tried to be with one of those women or had a child out of wedlock. And he was nineteen.

Even still, Gilbert couldn't go without knowing the truth, not when the answer depended on if he had to keep with this mystery or give up on it. He needed to find out if he had any shot with marrying whoever had been at that party, that mysterious girl who was so unlike most of the people that he knew in life.

He looked at Lovino and held out the glass slipper. "Can you try this on for me?"

Lovino just shook his head and stepped back into behind Antonio, who stepped away with a frown, apparently not okay with his servant disobeying orders. "Lovi, when the Crown Prince asks you to do something, you are supposed to do it." He said. "Same with any nobleman."

"Piss off." Lovino muttered under his breath. Gilbert had thought Antonio was super awesome the night of the party, but he was sort of an asshole when he was around the kid.

Gilbert held out the shoe. Lovino glared, but slid it onto his barefoot, knowing full well what it would mean if it still fit now that he was a male again. _Wait… what if someone did something to Gilbert, hurt him because of me,_ he thought. _Because he liked me?_ That's what Lovino had been terrified of at first when he heard the rumours of a girl named Lovina that the prince was looking for, that he had somehow recognised him and wanted to execute him for pretending to be what he wasn't.

But he had no malice. But even still, he knew that even if he did want him too, that it was impossible. So what was the point? To humiliate Lovino?

The shoe fit perfectly fine. "Impossible. 'Tis sin," remarked one of the guards. Gilbert turned to glare at him, placing himself in front of Lovino to shield him from sight. The Italian's heart beat fast, his skin growing warm when he realised that it was to protect him.

"There's no way," said another. "This is a servant. A male. The woman who was at the ball was definitely a noble." The man who said this, another one of the men, armed with swords and one with a bow, crunched his eyebrows in confusion with barely-veiled revulsion.

Gilbert frowned, but knew that it would be impossible to convince these men of otherwise, even if he was rather certain that the boy standing in front of him was the same girl from the ball. "Lovino, do you have any proof that this shoe is yours."

Lovino hesitated for a few seconds…. "I have the other shoe…" Sure enough, a few minutes later he appeared with the twin. The men that Gilbert had been with glared at the pair, and just then, Gilbert decided that it didn't really matter to him what his father thought, if they had to run away, if the pair was executed, just as long as Lovino wasn't the only one punished, just because he was a 'second-class citizen.' If they were going down, they were going down together, regardless if Gilbert was a noble. Gilbert would never be able to live with himself if he was forced to become king with some random stiff girl at his side if it meant any harm was to happen to this young boy with those hazel eyes.

He would protect Lovino at all costs, which was probably why when they returned to the castle, he had thrown himself in front of Lovino to shield him, not from his father's cold stare but just from the judgement he knew the kid would receive. A boy. A non-noble boy. A peasant. A servant. Degenerate member of society. Worthless. Those were what his father would think of the kid. But Gilbert knew that fate had thrown the pair together for a reason, and dash it all if he was going to let his father ruin what good thing that he had managed to find.

His father could judge and scream and rage all he wanted. He could imprison them, disown him, execute the pair. But Gilbert found that he didn't care anymore, wasn't selfless enough to let the small Italian go just so he could become king and change the kingdom for the better. He would let himself be executed before he let someone force or threaten or intimidate him into it all.

His father and Ludwig just stared in disbelief when they looked at the pair, the scrawny servant hidden half-behind Gilbert. "What the hell!" The king raged, just as Gilbert had expected. Lovino, who apparently did have at least some self-preservation skills after all when it came to pissing off the elite, had curled up into his back, silent.

Gilbert just smirked. "This is my new bride." He said, feeling a slight kick to his shin upon his remark. He decided to take note that Lovino did not like being called a woman.

"It's a man."

"It's a boy." Gilbert corrected. "Two years from the age of consent."

"The hell? You can't marry a man! That's improper! I should have him burned for—"

"Absolutely not!" Gilbert yelled, gripping onto the servant's hand to keep him close in case they tried to pull the pair apart forcibly.

"I can't have you marrying another man! It's sin! It's unmanly!"

"I don't care, Vater. I _want_ him." His father's eyes were unyielding. "And if you do anything to harm him, I'll never be King. Hell, I won't be your anything, you swine!"

"I'll have you both killed then!"

Ludwig's eyes widened and he attempted to step in to stop before he actually did so, assuming he would. His sword was out faster than Gilbert could blink. "Enough." He said.

Their father looked shocked and the young prince, Gilbert's kid brother who had not yet hit the age of maturity himself, stared him own, eyes unforgiving and just as cold as the man's himself. Lovino shook in his shoes. If he survived this he decided that he was never tempting fate by cursing at a noble for no damn reason ever again. Maybe. He couldn't actually make promises on that one.

"Oh, if only Elizabeta hadn't run off. If she had just said she didn't want to marry Roderich I would have arranged a marriage right then for you two…" He said, woefully, his glare on the small Italian and not on the sword his younger son was holding to his throat. Gilbert didn't answer him. And it wasn't because he didn't know how or because of disrespect.

Gilbert wasn't even paying the man that much attention other than keeping Lovino close enough to him and his sword in a threatening enough stance that no one really wanted to touch the two in fear of getting stabbed.

He didn't even care about what his father thought or did about it, as long as either Lovino was either going to be alright or with him, somewhere. Even them both being dead was honestly more preferable to him than Lovino dying at the stake, himself escaping the same fate because he was royalty, an aristocrat, important. Just the very thought of that brought bile up his throat.

Besides, Prince Gilbert knew that regardless of what happened in the next twenty minutes, if he was still allowed the throne, if Lovino was allowed to be his companion, if they were both to be punished or killed. None of it mattered.

Because Lovino was someone worth dying over.


End file.
